Miseria Cantare
by Fudgepuppies
Summary: A serial killer is on the loose. No trace is left behind to prove that the killer is any more than a phantom. What do the ex-pilots, called from their everyday lives, face? and what is the connection? Set 5 years after Endless Waltz.


A/N: Well, I wrote this chapter a while ago as a random act, listening to a song of the same title by AFI (pretty good group, may I add!). It's a prologue to a story I started on a previous account, but is in itself a full story. Hope you like it. I'm referring to the war as 'the war' rather than the Eve War, because… I can't remember if that is what it was named in the end. Pretty pathetic, eh? I follow the manga a little more than the series though, so excuse me, please. This is because… I can't watch the last episode (not including Endless Waltz. That was my first GW DVD!). It's just too final! It's like when I watched the final episode of DBGT. It was just dead in my eyes afterwards. I don't want that to happen to Gundam Wing!

Title: Miseria Cantare – The Beginning  
Rating: T for violence and mutilation  
Warnings: Shonen-ai, shoujo-ai, het, murder, psychos, twisted views on Gods. Anyone of strong religious beliefs who is gonna argue with me should stop reading now. OK? This is set about 5 years after Endless Waltz, so the boys are very well settled into their new lives. I'm also sticking to my firm belief that Trowa was actually 17 during the series, NOT 15. I just think he had to be a little older to survive in the wild as he did in the Episode Zero novel.  
Pairings: Established 5xS, more to be disclosed.  
Disclaimer: According to the laws of the powers-that-be, I do not, can not and will not EVER own Gundam Wing. Shame, really. It belongs to Sunrise. But, we can petition to get the Preventer 5 series carried on! Will anyone join me! Yes, I know it's been about 10 years since that was written, but so what?

* * *

Chapter 1 – Angel's Blood 

_Nothing from nowhere, I'm no one at all  
__Radiate, recognise one silent call  
__As we all form one dark flame  
__Incinerate_

_Love your hate, your faith lost  
__You are now one of us_

_A Fire Inside (A.F.I.) Miseria Cantare – The Beginning_

/\

The night was a silent one, clouds hanging overhead and shadowing the full majesty of the moon. Few stars could be seen and light was little to none. The wind was slight, the temperature cold.  
A perfect night for such a mission.  
A hooded figure slunk down the street, as if one with the very shadows. He, as we shall call the figure for convenience's sake, approached the house of his target with little trouble. He was slightly disappointed this evening.  
_The Devil usually sets up a much larger defense around those he tries to corrupt, _he thought to himself. _And I do enjoy dispatching his minions to him.  
_Sighing, he hoisted himself over the perimeter, his cloak lifting, silver flashing for a brief moment in the dim light. He sped towards the house, and slipped in through the door easily. Again, he was appalled at the lack of security.  
_But maybe this isn't a fortress of the Evil One. Maybe she is still free… Is this why you sent me so soon, my Lord?  
_He continued on, slinking past the few guards and cameras dotted around the building. The building itself was a large structure, Pre-Colony Victorian architecture, with cherubs added by one of the later residents. An ancient grandfather clock told the spectral being it was 3 minutes before his deadline.  
_Give me speed, my Lord.  
_He felt exhilarated. He had been chosen, from all of his Lord's loyal followers, to be the One, the mortal blessed to send all fallen angels back to their master. A lowly, unworthy human with a task that would guarantee the salvation of humankind…  
The cleansing of the evils created by humankind.  
He arrived at the polished oak doors, stared at the sparkling gold handles before him. His heart was pounding in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He noticed, vaguely, that the handles had feathers carved into the handles.  
He could taste the joy of his Lord himself. He flung the doors open….  
And was disgusted by the sight before him.

/\

Duo wanted to be sick. There were some things that just weren't humanly possible, and even after viewing countless crime scenes for the Preventers as a Special Ops. officer, he had never seen anything that displayed such an obviously disturbed mind. Upon entering the room, the first sight was that of a young woman, dangling from the ceiling fan via her intestines, protruding from a large, gaping hole in her torso. Blood stained her magnificent mane of hair and the ground below. Her eyes hung from their sockets, flat and lifeless. The marks around the eyes seemed to be made by a blunt object. Her left arm was attached by a few tendons, swaying in the slight breeze that drifted through the open windows. To add finishing touches, her skin was marred with writing, etched in with a knife. Words such as 'abomination', 'defiler' and 'demon' appeared countless times on the delicate pale skin. Only the brave and foolish dared enter the room to witness the travesties beyond Dorothy's mutilated corpse.

Behind the curtains of the king sized bed was another disturbed masterpiece. Another young woman laid there, her eyes glassy and milk white. Her arms were spread out, pointing slightly downwards, like the picture of an angel. Her heart rested on the pillow besides her head, the wound covered with a piece of cloth from the bed. Her skin was also carved into, but this time the words were illegible, a language unknown to anyone who had thus far viewed the scene. The pictures had already been taken, but they could not move her body, as it was glued to the bed by her own congealed blood.

"She may have been an extremely annoying woman, but no one deserves this," a voice muttered from beside the American. Duo nodded slightly, acknowledging the presence of the Chinese officer.  
"Got anything new, Wu-man?"  
Chang Wufei shook his head negatively. "It's the same as the others. No hint of a trespasser, no evidence to show a break-in, nothing to show anyone entered the room except these two. Lady Une is stressed. She has to accept that this is the work of a serial killer."  
Duo shuddered. Serial killers _always_ struck again, but the braided ex-pilot had no desire to view more scenes like the 4 he had encountered.  
"How's Heero coming with the motivation?"  
"Badly. He's broken 3 laptops already this morning. He can't seem to get into his head, and neither can Trowa. Quatre says that the guards are telling the truth."  
"So we're dealing with a ghost. Great, just great…"  
"I'll go get the autopsy, shall I?"  
Wufei gave a sad smile and casthis gazeonce more upon the corpse of Relena Darlian-Peacecraft, Vice Foreign Minister of the Earth Spherebefore he left to find Sally. Duo couldn't bring himself to look at her again.

/\

Maremaia Kushrenada-Barton, 15 years old.  
Zechs Marquise-Peacecraft, 24 years old.  
Sylvia Noventa, 23 years old.  
Relena Peacecraft, 21 years old.  
Dorothy Catalonia, 22 years old.

Midii Une stared at the information before her briefly. She hadn't gotten over Maremaia's death, but how was it possible that she couldn't have seen the connection? She took several deep breaths to calm herself before picking up the phone in her office. Using speed dial, she prepared her 'psychotic control freak' personality.  
"Dispatch a large number of agents to the list I am about to send you. Beef up security to maximum. **_I will not tolerate another death as long as I am in office._** Do you understand?"  
She put the phone down and sighed.  
There was nothing left to do but go home and relax, prepare for the following day.  
But for Une, there would not be another sunrise.

* * *

Gyaaaa. That is so boring. Oh well, it's just a teaser, really. avoids random flying objects HEY! I have my reasons for killing off those dead so far, ok? I am not too proud to ask: please review! I'll update as soon as I can, if anyone cares. And it isn't anyone-centric for now. I know exactly what I am going to write, but any extra ideas are welcome. Sorry about the shortness. 

Yours, Fudgepuppies.


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